SUMMER INTERNSHIP POSITIONS/DEPARTMENT 24 page

"You just do."

It was true; always had been. Friendships were like marriages in that way. Routines and patterns were poured early and hardened like cement.

Kate went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed with him.

He turned off the bedside lamp and rolled over to face her. Moonlight shone through the window and illuminated his profile. He held his arm out, waiting for her to snuggle up to him. She felt a surge of love for him that was surprisingly sharp, given their years together. He knew her so well, and there was a cashmere comfort in that; it wrapped around and warmed her.

No wonder Tully had so many sharp angles and harsh edges; she'd never let herself be softened by love, wrapped up in it. Without kids or a husband or a mother's love, she'd grown selfish. And so, yet again, Kate would let go of her anger without an apology. She shouldn't have let it simmer so long anyway. It was remarkable how quickly time passed. Sometimes it felt as if they'd just had the blowup. What mattered now was not the words, spoken or withheld, but rather the years of friendship.

"Thanks," she whispered. Tomorrow she'd call Tully and invite her over to dinner. Like always, that would put an end to their fight. They'd move effortlessly back onto the road of their friendship.

"For what?"

She kissed him gently, touched his cheek. Of all the views she loved, this man's face was her favorite. "Everything."

On a gray, drizzly morning in mid-November, Kate turned her car into the middle school parking lot and joined the snakelike line of SUVs and minivans. In the stop-and-go traffic, she glanced to her right.

Marah sat slouched in the passenger seat, looking surly. Her expression and her mood had been dark ever since the blowup over the modeling class in New York.

Before, Kate now saw, there had been bricks between her and her daughter. Lately there was a wall.

Usually it fell to Kate to smooth over any of the rough patches in the road their family traveled. She was the peacemaker, the referee, and the mediator, but nothing she said had worked. Marah had stayed angry for weeks now and it was taking a toll on Kate. She wasn't sleeping well. It pissed her off, too, these silent treatments, because she knew Marah was manipulating her, trying to break Kate down.

"Are you excited about the banquet?" she forced herself to ask. At least it was something to say. The whole eighth grade was excited about the winter banquet, as they should be. The parents—including Kate—had expended a huge amount of effort to create a magical night for the kids.

"Whatever," Marah said, looking out the window, obviously searching for friends in the crowd of kids outside the school. "You're not going to chaperone, are you?"

Kate refused to be wounded by the remark. She told herself it was normal; she'd been telling herself that a lot lately. "I'm the decorations chairman. You know that. I'm hardly going to work on this event for two months and then not see our work."

"So you'll be there," Marah said dully.

"Dad and I both will. But you'll still have fun."

"Whatever."

Kate came to the drop-off lane and stopped. "The Mularkey family school bus is here," she said. Behind her, the boys giggled at the familiar joke.

"That is so totally lame," Marah said, rolling her eyes.

Kate turned to her daughter. "'Bye, honey. Have a nice day. Good luck on your social studies test."

"'Bye," Marah said, slamming the door.

Kate sighed and glanced in the rearview mirror. The twins were playing together in the backseat, making their plastic dinosaurs fight. "Girls," she whispered under her breath, wondering why it was that adolescent girls simply had to be mean to their mothers. Clearly it was normal behavior; she'd spent enough time with her friends and peers to know that. So normal it was probably part of evolution. Maybe the species needed girls who thought they were grown up at thirteen for some bizarre, hidden reason.

A few minutes later she dropped the boys off at school (kissed them both goodbye—in public) and began her own day. First off was a stop at Bainbridge Bakers, where she got a latte, then she dropped off some books at the library and headed down to Safeway. By ten-thirty, she was home again, standing in her kitchen, putting the groceries away.

Just as she was closing the fridge door, she heard the familiar Girlfriend Hour theme music coming from the TV in the living room, and she followed it. She rarely watched the show all the way through—how could she, with her busy schedule?—but she always turned it on so she knew what the episodes were about. Both Johnny and Tully sometimes quizzed her.

Kate hitched her leg over the end of the sofa and sat down.

On-screen, the theme music died down and Tully walked onto the cozy, we're-just-a-couple-of-girls-hanging-out-in-your-family-room set. As usual, she looked beautiful. Last year she'd decided to let her hair grow out into a sleek shoulder-length bob, and she'd returned to her natural reddish-brown color. The sophisticated girl-next-door cut and color only emphasized her high cheekbones and chocolaty eyes. A few well-placed shots of collagen had given her perfect lips, which she coated in just a hint of gloss but almost no color.

"Welcome back to The Girlfriend Hour," she was saying now, trying to be heard over the din of applause. Kate knew that people sometimes stood in line for six hours to be in the studio audience, and why not? The Hour, as it was called by fans and media alike now, was fun and breezy and occasionally even inspiring. No one ever quite knew what Tully would say or do next. It was part of what kept people tuning in, and Johnny made sure that everything ran like a well-oiled machine. True to her word, Tully had made them all rich, and Johnny, in turn, always made Tully look good.

Tully sat onstage, in the cream-colored chair that was hers. The pale color made her look more vibrant, larger than life. She leaned forward to talk intimately with both the audience and the camera.

Kate was instantly hooked. While she watched Tully reveal her makeup and hair secrets to the rest of America, Kate paid bills and dusted the Levolor blinds and folded laundry. After the show, she clicked off the television and sat down again to work on her Christmas list. She was so engrossed in this project, it took her a moment to realize her phone was ringing. She glanced around, saw the cordless phone on the floor under a pile of Legos, and answered it. "Hello?"

"Kate, is this you?"

"Yes."

"Thank goodness. It's Ellen, from Woodward. I'm calling because Marah isn't in her fourth-period class. If you forgot to sign her out, that's—"

"I didn't forget," Kate said, realizing how sharp she sounded. "Sorry, Ellen. Marah is supposed to be in class. Let me guess: Emily Allen and Sharyl Burton are absent, too."

"Oh, boy," Ellen said. "Do you know where they are?"

"I have a pretty good idea. When I find them I'll call you. Thanks, Ellen."

"Sorry, Kate."

She hung up the phone and glanced at the clock: 12:42.

It didn't take an advanced degree to figure out where the girls were. Today was Thursday, the day the new movies opened at the Pavillion. Coincidentally, that new teen queen—Kate couldn't remember her name—had a new movie out.

Kate grabbed her purse and headed out, pulling into the Pavillion lot at just before one. Trying not to be royally pissed took some real effort, and by the time she'd spoken to the manager, walked through the darkened theaters, found the girls, and herded them back into the lobby, she was losing the battle.

But her anger was nothing compared to her daughter's.

"I can't believe you did that," Marah said when they reached the parking lot.

Kate ignored the tone and said tightly, "I told you you could see the Saturday matinee with your friends."

"If my room was clean."

Kate didn't bother to answer. "Come on, girls. Out to the car. They're waiting for you at school."

The girls climbed quietly into the backseat, murmuring how sorry they were.

"I'm not sorry," Marah said, slamming her door and yanking her seat belt into place. "We only missed dumb old algebra."

Starting the car, Kate drove out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "You are supposed to be in school. Period."

"Oh. Like you'd never take me out of class to see a movie," Marah said. "I must have dreamed I saw Harry Potter on a school day."

"In the no-good-deed-goes-unpunished category," Kate said, trying not to raise her voice.

Marah crossed her arms. "Tully would understand."

Kate pulled into the circular drive in front of the middle school and parked. "Okay, girls, they're waiting for you at the office."

Emily groaned. "My mom's gonna flip out."

When they were alone in the car, Kate turned to her daughter.

"Dad would understand," Marah said. "He knows how much movies and modeling mean to me."

"You think so?" Kate pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed-dial list, then handed it to Marah. "Tell him."

"Y-you tell him."

"I didn't skip school and go to the movies." She held the phone out.

Marah took it, put it to her ear. "Daddy?" Marah's voice instantly softened and tears filled her eyes.

Kate felt a clutch of jealousy. How was it that Johnny had maintained such a lovely relationship with their daughter when it was Kate who was practically the kid's indentured servant?

"Guess what, Daddy? Remember that movie I told you about, the one where the girl finds out that her aunt is really her mom? I went to see it today and it was totally . . . What? Oh." Her voice fell to a near-whisper. "During fourth period, but . . . I know." She listened for a few moments and then sighed. "Okay. 'Bye, Dad." Marah hung up the phone and handed it back to Kate. For a split second, she was a little girl again. "I can't go see the movie this weekend."

Kate wanted nothing more than to seize the instant's possibility and pull Marah into her arms for a hug, to hang on to her little girl for just a moment and say, I love you, but she didn't dare. Motherhood at times like this—most times—was about the steel in your spine, not the bend. "Maybe next time you'll think about the consequences of an action."

"Someday I'll be a famous actress and I'll tell the TV that you were totally no help at all. None. I'll give all the credit to Aunt Tully, who believes in me." She got out of the car and started walking.

Kate followed, fell into step beside her. "I believe in you."

Marah snorted. "Ha. You never let me do anything, but as soon as I can I'm moving in with Tully."

"When hell freezes over," she muttered under her breath. Thankfully, she and her daughter had no more opportunity to speak. When they stepped into the school, the principal was waiting for them.

The summer before Marah started high school was hands down the worst summer of Kate's life. A thirteen-year-old daughter in middle school had been bad; in retrospect, though, it looked a hell of a lot better from a distance. A fourteen-year-old girl getting ready for high school was worse.

It didn't help that for the last year Johnny had been working sixty hours a week, either.

"You are not going to wear jeans that show the crack of your butt to school," Kate said, striving to keep her voice even. In her busy end-of-the-summer schedule, she'd budgeted four hours to buy Marah's school clothes. They'd been in the mall two hours already and the only thing in their arms was hostility.

"Everyone is wearing these jeans at the high school."

"Everyone except you, then." Kate pressed a pair of fingertips to her throbbing temples. She was vaguely aware of the boys running through the store like banshees, but she let that go for now. If she was lucky, maybe security would come and lock her up for failing to control her children. Right now a little solitary confinement sounded heavenly.

Marah threw the jeans on a rounder and stomped off.

"Do you even know how to walk away anymore?" Kate muttered, following her daughter.

By the time they were finished, Kate felt like Russell Crowe in Gladiator: beaten, bloodied, but alive. No one was happy. The boys were whining over the Lord of the Rings action figures she'd denied them, Marah was fuming over the jeans she hadn't gotten and the practically see-through blouse that had also gotten away, and Kate was angry that school shopping could so drain her energy. The only good news was that she'd drawn her line in the sand and defended it. Kate hadn't completely won the day, but neither had Marah.

On the drive home from Silverdale, the car was divided into two discernible halves: the backseat was noisy, boisterous, and full of fighting; the front seat was frigid and silent. Kate kept trying to make conversation with her daughter, but every sentence was an unreturned volley; by the time they'd turned down the gravel driveway and parked in the garage, she felt utterly defeated. That vague triumph over holding the line, being a mother and not a friend, had lost its luster.

Behind her, the boys unhooked their seat belts and climbed over each other in their haste to get out. Kate knew that whoever got to the living room first controlled the remote.

"Take it easy," she said, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

They were tangled together like lion cubs trying to crawl out of a hole.

She turned to Marah. "You got some lovely things today."

Marah shrugged. "Yeah."

"You know, Marah, life is full of—" Kate stopped herself midsentence and almost laughed. She'd been about to offer one of her mother's life-is speeches.

"What?"

"Compromises. You can go around seeing what you did get, or you can focus on what you didn't. The choice you make will ultimately determine what kind of woman you become."

"I just want to fit in," Marah said in a voice that was unexpectedly small. It reminded Kate how young her daughter really was, and how frightening it was to start high school.

Kate reached out, gently tucked some hair behind Marah's ear. "Believe me, I remember the feeling. I had to wear cheap, secondhand clothes to school when I was your age. The kids used to make fun of me."

"So you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean, but you can't get everything you want. It's that simple."

"It's a pair of jeans, Mom. Not world peace."

Kate looked at her daughter. For once, she wasn't scowling or turning away. "I'm sorry we fight so much."

"Yeah."

"Maybe we could sign you up for that new modeling class, after all. The one in Seattle."

Marah jumped on that scrap like a hungry dog. "You'll finally let me go off-island? The next session starts Tuesday. I checked. Tully said she'd pick me up from the ferry." Marah smiled sheepishly. "We've been talking about it."

"Oh, you have, have you?"

"Daddy said it would be okay if I kept my grades up."

"He knows, too? And no one talks to me? Who am I, Hannibal Lecter?"

"You get mad pretty easily these days."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Can I go?"

Kate had no choice, really. "Okay. But if your grades—"

Marah launched herself out of her seat and into Kate's arms. She held her daughter tightly, reveling in the moment. She couldn't remember the last time Marah had initiated a hug.

Long after Marah had run into the house, Kate was still sitting in the car, staring after her daughter, wondering if the modeling class was a good idea. That was the sly, ruinous thing about motherhood, the thing that twisted your insides with guilt and made you change your mind and lower your standards: giving in was so damned easy.

It wasn't that she didn't want Marah to take the classes, precisely. It was that she didn't want Marah on that difficult road so young. Rejections, corruption, beauty that went no deeper than the skin, drugs, and anorexia. All that lay beneath the surface of the modeling world. Self-esteem and body image were too fragile in the teen years. God knew a girl could fall off the track even without the burden of constant beauty-based rejection.

In short, Kate wasn't afraid her gorgeous daughter wouldn't make it in the world of runways and taped-on clothing. Rather, she was afraid she would, and then her childhood would be lost.

Finally, she left the car and went inside, muttering, "I should have held firm."

The mother's lament. She was trying to figure out how to backtrack (impossible now) when the phone rang. Kate didn't even bother answering. In these last few weeks of summer, she'd learned one true thing: teenage girls lived on the phone.

"Mom! It's Grandma for you," Marah screamed down the stairs. "But don't take too long. Gabe is gonna call me."

She picked up the phone and heard the exhalation of smoke on the other end. Smiling, she ignored the groceries and plopped onto the couch, curling up under an afghan that still smelled like her mother. "Hey, Mom."

"You sound terrible."

"You can tell that from my breathing?"

"You have a teenage daughter, don't you?"

"Believe me, I was never this bad."

Mom laughed; it was a horsey, hacking sound. "I guess you don't remember all the times you told me to butt out of your life and then slammed the door in my face."

The memory was vague but not impossible to recall. "I'm sorry, Mom."

There was a pause. Then Mom said, "Thirty years."

"Thirty years what?"

"That's how long before you'll get an apology, too, but you know what's great?"

Kate groaned. "That I might not live that long?"

"That you'll know she's sorry long before she does." Mom laughed. "And when she needs you to babysit, she'll really love you."

Kate knocked on Marah's door, heard a muffled, "Come in."

She went inside. Trying to ignore the clothes and books and junk scattered everywhere, she picked her way to the white four-poster bed, where Marah sat, knees drawn up, talking on the phone. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Marah rolled her eyes. "I gotta go, Gabe. My mom wants to talk to me. Later." To Kate, she said, "What?"

Kate sat on the edge of the bed, remembering suddenly all the times this very scene had played out in her own teenage years. Her mother had started every reconciliation with a life-is speech.

She smiled at the memory.

"What?"

"I know we've been fighting a lot lately, and I'm sorry about that. Most of the time it's because I love you and I want the best for you."

"And the rest of the time, what's it about then?"

"Because you've really pissed me off."

Marah smiled at that, just a little, and sidled left to make room for Katie, just as Kate had once done for her own mother.

She moved more fully onto the bed and cautiously reached down to hold her daughter's hand. There were lots of things she could say right now, conversations she could try to knit out, but instead she just sat there, holding her daughter's hand. It was the first quiet, connected moment they'd spent together in years and it filled her with hope. "I love you, Marah," she said finally. "It was you, more than anyone else, who showed me what love could be. When they put you in my arms for the first time . . ." She paused, feeling her throat tighten. Her love for this child was so enormous, so overwhelming. Sometimes in the day-to-day war zone of adolescence, she almost forgot that. She smiled. "Anyway, I was thinking we should do something special together."

"Like what?"

"Like the anniversary party for Dad's show."

"You mean it?" Marah had been begging for this opportunity for weeks. Kate had repeatedly said she was too young.

"We could go shopping together, get our hair done, get beautiful dresses—"

"I love you," Marah said, hugging her.

She held on to her daughter, reveling in the moment.

"Can I tell Emily?"

Before Kate had even said, "Sure," Marah was reaching for the phone, punching in numbers. As she headed for the door and closed it behind her, she heard Marah said, "Em, you won't believe this. Guess where I'm going on Saturday—"

Kate closed the door and went to her own room, thinking about how quickly things changed with kids. One minute you were an old Eskimo woman, floating away from everyone, forgotten; the next you were climbing Mount Rainier, stabbing your flag in the snow. The changes could leave you dizzy sometimes, and the only way to survive was to enjoy the good moments and not dwell too much on the bad.

"You're smiling," Johnny said when she entered the room. He was sitting up in bed, wearing the drugstore reading glasses he'd grudgingly purchased.

"Is that so remarkable?"

"Frankly, yes."

She laughed. "I guess it is. Marah and I had a bad week. She got invited to an overnight party with boys—I still can't believe it—and I told her she couldn't go."

"So why the smile?"

"I invited her to the anniversary party. We'll make a girl's day out of it. Shopping, manicures, haircuts, the works. We'll need to get a suite at the hotel, or get a rollaway."

"I'll be the luckiest guy in the room," he said.

Kate smiled at him, feeling hopeful for the first time in longer than she could remember. She and Marah would have a perfect mother-daughter evening. Maybe it would finally tear down that wall between them.

Tully should have been on top of the world. Tonight was the anniversary party for her show. Dozens of people had been working for months to make it the event of the year in Seattle. Not only were the locals expected to attend, but the RSVPs indicated a celebrity-studded night. In short, everyone who was anyone would be here, and they were coming to honor her, to applaud her phenomenal success.

She glanced around the glittery, traditional ballroom of the Olympic Hotel. Actually, she thought it was called something else these days—chains kept acquiring and selling the property—but to Seattleites, it was and would always be the Olympic.

The room was full of her peers, her colleagues, her partners, many of her A-list celebrity guests, and a few of her key employees. Everyone she saw raised a glass in celebration. They all loved her.

And not one of them really knew her.

There it was. Edna had been unable to come, and Grant hadn't even returned her phone call. The latest tabloid she'd read claimed he was marrying some starlet, and although the news shouldn't bother Tully, it did. It made her feel old and lonely, especially tonight. How was it that she'd reached this age alone? Without a special person with whom she could share her life?

A waiter passed by her and she tapped his shoulder, snagging a second glass of champagne from his tray. "Thanks," she said, flashing the Tallulah Hart smile, looking around the ballroom for the Ryans. They still weren't here. She was drifting in a sea of acquaintances.

She downed the champagne and went in search of another drink. The day of beauty with her daughter was everything Kate had hoped it would be. For the first time in ages, they didn't fight. Marah even listened to Kate's opinions on things. After they'd chosen their gowns—a one-shouldered black silk gown for Kate and a beautiful pink chiffon strapless one for Marah—they checked into the Gene Juarez day spa, where they got manicures and pedicures, haircuts, and their makeup done.

Now they were in Marah's bedroom in the suite at the Olympic. Crowded into the bathroom, they stood side by side, studying themselves in the mirror.

Kate knew she'd never forget the sight of them so close together: the tall, gangly daughter with the exquisite face, smiling so broadly her eyes tilted up, with her skinny arm around Kate's bare shoulder.

"We totally rock," Marah said.

Kate smiled. "Totally."

Marah kissed her cheek impulsively, said, "Thanks, Mom," and grabbed her beaded evening bag from the bed on her way to the door. "Here I come, Daddy," she said, opening it, stepping into the sitting room.

"Marah," she heard him say, whistling. "You're gorgeous."

Kate followed her daughter into the room. She knew she wasn't as shapely as she'd once been, or quite as pretty, but in this dress, with Johnny's diamond-heart necklace at her throat, she felt beautiful, and when she saw the way her husband smiled, she felt sexy, too.

"Wow," he said, coming toward her. Leaning close, he kissed her. "You look hot, Mrs. Ryan."

"You, too, Mr. Ryan."

Laughing, the three of them left the room and went down to the ballroom, where hundreds of people were already celebrating.

"Look, Mom," Marah whispered, sidling close. "It's Brad and Jennifer. And there's Christina. Wow. I can't wait to call Emily."

Johnny took Kate's hand and led her through the crowd to the bar, where he got two drinks and a Coke for Marah.

Then they eased back and stood there, sipping their drinks and surveying the crowd.

Even in a room like this, Tully stood out in a flowing silk gown the color of Burmese emeralds. She sailed toward them, waving, her gown rippling behind her. "You guys look fabulous," she gushed, laughing.

Kate couldn't help noticing that Tully appeared a little unsteady on her feet already. "Are you okay?"

"Couldn't be better. Johnny, we need to say a few things onstage after dinner. Then we'll go to the dance floor to get the ball rolling?"

"Don't you have a date?" Johnny asked.

Tully's smile faltered. "Marah can be my date for the evening. You don't mind if I borrow her, do you, Katie?"

"Well—"

"Why should she care?" Marah said, gazing at Tully in adoration. "She sees me every day."

Tully leaned close to Marah. "Ashton is here. Do you want to meet him?"

Marah practically swooned. "Are you kidding?"

Kate watched them walk away, hand in hand, heads cocked together like a pair of cheerleaders talking about the captain of the football team.

After that, the night lost some of its luster for Kate. Sipping her champagne, she followed her husband around the room, smiling when she was supposed to, laughing when it seemed appropriate, saying, "I'm an at-home mom," when asked, and watching how those few words—a sentence that made her so proud—could kill a conversation.

All the while, she watched Tully pretend that Marah was her daughter, introducing her to one celebrity after another, letting her have sips of her champagne.

When it was finally time for dinner, Kate took her place at the head table, with Johnny on one side of her and the president of Syndiworld on the other. Tully held court all through the meal. There was no other way to describe it. She was lively, animated, funny; every person seated around her—especially Marah—seemed awestruck.

Kate tried not to let any of it get to her. A few times she even tried to get her daughter's attention, but it was impossible to compete with Tully.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She made an excuse to Johnny and headed for the bathroom. In line, every woman there seemed to be talking about Tully, remarking on how gorgeous she looked.

"And did you see the girl she's with—"

"I think it's her daughter."

"No wonder they look so close."

"I wish my daughter treated me like that."

"So do I," Kate murmured too quietly to be heard. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing a woman who'd done her best to look beautiful for her husband and daughter, only to fade into the wallpaper beside her best friend. She knew it was ridiculous to feel so hurt and excluded. It wasn't her night, after all. Still . . . she'd had such high hopes.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 564